


an issue of faith

by vhenans (hangthestars)



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: (both kinds), (it's barely dub-con but he does something without asking and she happens to like it), Anal Sex, Bestiality, Comeplay, Doggy Style, Enthusiastic Consent, F/M, Knotting, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Religion Kink, Rimming, Rough Sex, Vaginal Sex, dub-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-20
Updated: 2018-05-20
Packaged: 2019-05-09 09:43:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14713688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hangthestars/pseuds/vhenans
Summary: After Solas first shows her the Fade, Eala Lavellan realizes that Fen'Harel has been watching her in her sleep. At first she's afraid, then comforted, then oddly aroused.When she finally meets him in person, she fucks him. For religious reasons.Kink Meme Fill, full prompt text inside.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> KINK MEME PROMPT: Dalish person (any gender/sex fine, just no gender disambiguous one, Lavellan or other known Dalish characters also fine) takes 'being taken by the Dread Wolf' too seriously, Solas humors it because... well, several thousand year long dry spell and getting to fuck is still getting to fuck.
> 
> Worshipping their heathen wolf God on their knees with their ass up.
> 
> \+ for knotting, + for accidental anal where the intention was thigh fucking/vaginal, + for repeated visits  
> https://dragonage-kink.dreamwidth.org/93509.html?thread=366081605#cmt366081605
> 
>  
> 
> Technically I got everything. He does visit repeatedly, but they only fuck once. If you want to get straight to the explicit good stuff, hop on over to chapter 2, but there's some masturbation and fantasizing and explicit descriptions of oral sex in chapter 1 if that's your thing. The tags are accurate, more or less. I tagged for dub-con only because he pushes into her ass by accident without asking and she never verbally tells him she likes it, though her inner monologue is very consenting. That's about it.
> 
> Enjoy!

Solas reasons that he can’t tell her the truth unless he’s sure that she won’t be terrified of him. The Inquisition has a purpose much larger than their personal feelings, and the Inquisitor herself _needs_ him to guide her.

That’s what he tells himself when he starts to appear in her dreams not as the figure she’s used to, but as the wolf she’s been taught to fear.

—

Eala Lavellan tells no one, at first.

She’s never dreamed so clearly, but after walking once in the Fade with Solas, the anchor casts her nights in bright, vivid colors and such an awareness that for a while, it no longer feels like rest. She can’t look at specific events or talk clearly with spirits yet, but sometimes they come to her and make idle conversation, sniffing her out like curious animals and drifting away as soon as they’re bored. Sometimes she finds Cole there, and he happily looks over Skyhold in the Fade with her, keeping her company while she discovers the limits of her dreaming.

Solas never comes to her again, and she wonders if she’s done something to push him away. She _had_ promised him space after the kiss, but perhaps she’s given him too much. He seems colder now, sometimes, or as if he simply doesn’t remember that they had gotten so close for such a short time. The man who guided her to Skyhold, comforted her in the cold nights when her arm ached, and told her that she _changed the world_ seems gone now, or at least over her, a little.

It’s not a new experience for her, but it still hurts.

It’s wandering the Storm Coast that she sees the Dread Wolf for the first time. She isn’t sure it’s him; all manner of spirits and shadows like to lurk just outside her perception, watching her, deciding if they’ll speak to her or not. Eala has learned not to see them as threatening, and when they come to talk, they never are because of it. No, what convinces her is that she hears him howl, so sharp and so terrible at first that her head still hurts when she wakes.

Though she tells no one, Cole senses her fear and is kind enough only to mention it when they’re in private together. She cries, and he holds her, and her words come out of his mouth: _he has my scent, he’s following me, I’ve wandered on my own and this is my fault, he’ll devour me, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry._

The days must go on, she knows, and for the next few nights she stubbornly sits in one spot when the anchor brings her to life in the Fade and wills herself back into a dreamless sleep. It takes more effort than she expects, and it leaves her much more groggy. By then, dreaming lucidly had become restful, and forcing herself back out of it makes her toss and turn and shiver in her sleep. It’s not a good solution for the long term.

—

Eventually, Eala has to let the dreaming happen again. They’re in the Hinterlands, on their way back to Skyhold, and Cole is with her this time.

When she hears the howling, she reaches for Cole’s hand. He squeezes her so hard that the anchor sparks, and she holds him back just as tight. _Don’t run_ , she thinks, knowing that Cole can hear it. _Predators will pursue if you run_.

“He doesn’t want to hurt you,” Cole says gently, still holding fast to her hand. “He won’t come close until you invite him.”

Eala is stock-still, on a little patch of grass on one side of a river. She can sense the Dread Wolf lurking in the shadows that twine through the trees, feeling the heavy steps of his paws more in her heart than she can hear them in her ears. Part of her wants to face him down to prove that she can, another part wants to know _why_ he’s come to hunt her, but she can already feel in her knees that she’ll crumble.

“Not today,” she whispers. “This distance is good. For now.”

—

She wants so desperately to discuss this with Solas. He’s the only other elf around who knows _anything_ about Dalish customs and beliefs, but he’s so dismissive that she dares not to bring it up. Her distance matches his now. He politely gives advice across campfires and offers direction from time to time, but he appears content to leave her alone.

It’s a surprise when he asks for her help rescuing a friend of his in the Exalted Plains, but she immediately agrees. Solas is still _her_ friend, after all.

—

Halfway to the Dirth, Eala again feels Fen’Harel lurking in her dream. She is without Cole this time, but she’s felt the Dread Wolf for almost two weeks now, waiting at the edges of her consciousness, stepping not one paw into her sight without her permission. Eala has grown used to him in an odd way, aware of his eyes on her while she explores other places and speaks to other spirits. The howling is becoming less and less shrill, until her ears seem to find it comforting and the echo of it lulls her to sleep instead of making her restless.

She dreams one night of the attack on Haven, of stumbling through the snow, cradling her glowing hand to her chest. She hears the howling of the wolves, and realizes now that they were leading her to safety, sweet as a siren’s song. This time when she stumbles outside of camp, she sees not Cullen’s boots coming closer, but massive black paws instead. She feels hot breath on her forehead before she sleeps into a deeper sleep, laying down in the snow.

When she wakes from that dream, she’s _wet_. Eala pushes herself onto her back, grateful that she’s alone in her tent. She usually shares, but Cassandra is out on watch duty. Without thinking much on it, Eala pushes her hand down underneath her smallclothes and whimpers when she touches the slickness between her legs.

She’s too tired for shame, still drifting out of sleep, but as her fingers work over her clit her mind wanders back to the same places: Fen’Harel, the feeling of his presence, his breath on her hair. Eala’s been keeping him at bay for so long that his energy has become warm and comforting. He doesn’t want to hurt her. She’s surely a fool for believing that, but she’s so desperate for comfort, something that feels like home.

Eala gropes with her other hand until she finds her breast, squeezing and pinching through her shirt. This is heresy without question, but she finds herself longing for touch, too, aching to feel his fur slipping through her fingers. She can guess at the size of him just from his paws, and as her fingers sink into her cunt, her mouth falls open in a quiet groan. Solas and Blackwall are sharing the next tent over, and the canvas is so thin that they might easily overhear.

Perhaps she should invite him close the next time she sleeps. She might crawl through the grass, coax him until his cock is exposed. Eala fucks herself imagining the thick head pushing into her mouth and rutting over her tongue, and she _comes_ thinking of the taste of his come filling her mouth until it overflows, sliding down her throat and dripping down her chin.

It’s coming down from the high of orgasm that Eala remembers to feel ashamed. She pulls her hands away from herself, wiping the dampness off on her trousers. The Keeper would disown her over something like this, everyone else would just _laugh_.

—

The next morning, Eala feels hungover. She sits by the campfire, her knees curled up and her arms crossed over them, her face buried. Cassandra is catching some extra sleep while Blackwall hunts, and it leaves her alone with Solas. Eala is quiet while he cooks, roasting their last rabbit over the fire.

“Did you sleep well, lethallan?” Solas asks cautiously. “You seem unwell.”

Eala looks up only enough to rest her chin on her arms. “I’m not unwell,” she replies, though it doesn’t sound true. “I have something heavy on my mind. I’m deciding what to feel.”

“Oh? I can listen. And offer advice, if you like.”

Eala considers it, then shakes her head. “It’s personal. I’m not ready to share details yet.”

“Then… perhaps a generalization? Or we can talk about something else.”

“You’ll laugh. Or dismiss me. I know you don’t put stock in elven gods. This is an issue of faith,” she says softly, watching the rabbit instead of Solas’s face.

“Hm.” Solas turns the makeshift spit. “I don’t _not_ believe that the elven gods existed. I just think they’re more complicated than the Dalish believe. Is there truly nothing I can help with?”

Eala is silent for a long few moments, long enough that Solas takes the rabbit off the fire and starts to pull it apart to eat. Eventually, she says, “I fear the Dread Wolf has my scent. And worse, I fear I don’t mind it.”

“ _Oh_.” Solas seems not to have another response, handing over her part of the food without more comment.

“...I told you.”

“ _No_. No, I’m trying to think of something to say.” Solas turns his plate in his lap, but doesn’t touch the food. “Why don’t you think you mind it?”

“I don’t _know_. But I have this feeling that…” Eala isn’t sure why she’s even talking to him about this. She should wait for Cole, but it feels awkward to talk to Cole about this when it’s turned sexual all of a sudden. “It’s complicated. I’m afraid of him, but not as I used to be. I have yet to face him, but I have this feeling about him. That perhaps he is not the monster I’ve been told. Or, at least… a civil monster.”

“Hm.” Solas sits back. “That’s an interesting perspective. I wonder how you come to it.”

“I’ve started to feel comforted by his visits,” she admits.

“Visits? Plural?”

She nods. “It’s been a couple of months now. No other gods have appeared to any of us, least of all to me. No gods would ever bother with me because I’m not a mage, anyway. But he’s come to me, and he’s waiting to come close, until I ask. It’s more respect than my own people have shown me.” Eala sighs, picking at her food and reluctantly taking a bite. 

“My own gods haven’t seemed to care about me this last year. But the more I think, the more I realize that he must have been there for so long. I just couldn’t see him until you showed me the Fade.”

Solas lets out a breath, content just to eat for the moment. Eala lets them lapse back into silence long enough to finish, eating the bones clean and tossing them back into the fire.

“Eala…” Solas sighs, reaching for the dirt and tossing some of it into the fire. “In all my studies into the Fade, I have seen bits of the past no Dalish would ever believe. Fen’Harel’s mark upon the world is… complicated. Perhaps he was a monster. Perhaps some part of him was not. We are all many things, Inquisitor, even the elven gods.”

Eala nods. She can’t remember the last time she’d heard such a sadness in Solas’s voice. In all their conversations about Dalish religion in the past year, Solas has never brought this up or mentioned seeing much about them in the Fade.

Wouldn’t he have brought it up earlier, if only just to win a debate? To show off?

Hm.

—

The next night, she feels Fen’Harel in the distance, and she beckons for him. She calls out, she wanders, she welcomes.

He never comes.

She wakes up feeling foolish. Of course not.

Of course not.


	2. Chapter 2

The Dread Wolf doesn’t appear for the next few nights, and Eala finds that she _misses_ him. What Solas said sticks with her. If Fen’Harel had wanted to hurt her, he would have done it ages ago. He wouldn’t have stayed away when she wanted him to.

He’s here. Nobody else is.

Eala’s felt none of Mythal’s protection, Elgar’nan’s anger. She hasn’t sensed Sylaise in the woods or Andruil. If anything would get their attention, it should be humans shouting to the heavens that a Dalish elf is the Herald of Andraste, but there’s been _nothing_. But Fen’Harel was there, she’s sure of it, leading her out of the snow. 

Maybe he even saved her from the avalanche in the first place.

Eala is left with an excess of faith and only one place to put it. She wakes in the night and feels so achingly lonely that the only relief comes from her hand, coming and praying that it draws Fen’Harel near. They make it to the Exalted Plains, and they find Solas’s hurting spirit friend, and they turn back to return to Skyhold and… nothing. No response.

She’s come hard against her own fingers tonight and still she can’t get to sleep for the loneliness. 

Then she hears the howling.

When she leaves camp with the sweat on the back of her neck and the wetness between her thighs, she has to hold it together enough to convince Dorian (who’s on watch at the time) that she’ll be fine if she wanders alone. She did it plenty before meeting all of these humans, after all. 

The wolf’s cries are like a siren’s call. It might be a _real_ wolf, and she might be running into trouble, but Eala knows in her gut that she’s not.

She’s deep in the woods when she sees him, sitting in a pool of moonlight. He’s massive for a wolf, darker than the night itself, his six eyes glowing. She knows before he looks at her that her scent is already in his nose.

After weeks of getting used to him, Eala didn’t expect to freeze, but as he walks toward her she can’t seem to will her legs to move in any direction.

“Creators—-”

 _Shhh_. His voice is in the air and in her mind, deep and echoing. It sounds familiar in a way that Eala can’t place. _Your Creators aren’t here. You called me, lethallan, and I called you. Isn’t that true?_

Fen’Harel stops within her reach, filling her vision as he looks her over. Eala reminds herself to breathe, not to cry. Carefully, she extends her hand, hesitating at the first brush of his fur against her fingers. The Dread Wolf is still and patient, and he leans into her touch once she’s brave enough to lay her hand on him, resting her palm between his eyes.

“Why didn’t you come the other night?” she asks, taking another careful step closer and bringing up her other hand. When he bows his head, she cradles his jaw, gently caressing his cheek. “You left me.”

 _I wanted to meet you face to face in person. You deserved that._ Fen’Harel raises his head to meet her eye. _I felt your prayers, Inquisitor._

Eala tightens her fingers in his fur and she nearly weeps. Her faith is so rarely rewarded. If she’s his only disciple, then all the better. “How long have you had my scent?”

 _Long enough. It’s never been so sweet as it is now._ The Dread Wolf pushes against her thigh with his nose. _Who were you fucking before you came here, lethallan?_ He sounds as if answering with a name might be dangerous.

It puts a tremble in her belly and the heat back down between her legs. She almost wishes that she had a real answer other than _herself_ ; she didn’t realize how badly she’s wanted someone to be possessive of her until she had a god demanding to know whose cock she’s been on.

“Nobody. Myself.” Eala pushes her hands up to his ears, clinging to the fur behind them. She’s never wanted anyone or anything other than elves before, but she realizes that she wants nothing more than to fuck this creature that’s nipping at her thigh. He’s a new god to her in his way, and it’s in her nature to want to worship in any way she can.

_And what was on your mind?_

“I…” Eala takes a step back, flushing hard. Her skin is so unnervingly pale that it’s immediately obvious when she’s embarrassed, turning red all the way to her ears. “Praying. For the Dread Wolf to take me.”

For a tense moment, Fen’Harel just stares at her, his expression impassive. His nostrils flare. Eala takes another half step. Is he offended? Is he angry? When he cocks his head a little, she flinches.

 _Is that still what you would pray for, now that you’ve seen me?_ He takes a step, closing a little distance. _Do you want the Dread Wolf to take you, Inquisitor? Do you know what you ask? —- Answer me. Be plain._

When Eala tries to take another step away, he catches the front of her shirt with his teeth and _growls_. The sound makes her shudder and she blurts, “I _want_ you to fuck me.”

Fen’Harel lets go of her shirt and nuzzles her belly. He presses his nose down between her legs and takes a long, indulgent inhale of her scent. She smells strongly and obviously of her arousal now, and she thinks she hears him groan. _It’s been an age since I’ve mated_. His voice is soft and threatening in her mind. _You know what you ask?_

“I’ve been dreaming of what I ask for weeks,” she insists. To know that she’s his first in so long only makes her more willing. It will hurt. She wants it to hurt.

The Dread Wolf growls, and he leans back up to bite at her shirt. He drags her further into the clearing and tosses her down, so she falls onto her hands and knees. For a moment she can’t see him; she can only feel him moving around behind her, and the scrape of his teeth on her back as he tugs at her trousers. _Show yourself to me_.

Eala is quick to shove at her clothes, discarding her shirt and pushing down her trousers. Fen’Harel does the rest for her once he gets his teeth around the waistband, dragging her to the ground while he’s tugging off her clothes.

 _On your knees, lethallan_. Fen’Harel tucks his nose between her thighs to guide her back up to her knees, dragging the bridge along her cunt. Eala shudders, and then she _whimpers_ when he drags his tongue between her wet lips and works his tongue into her hole. _You fucked yourself so well before coming here. Do you want the Dread Wolf’s cock?_

Eala opens her mouth to answer, but it comes out as a _moan_. His thick, inhuman tongue laps messily at her cunt and stretches her wider than she expects, licking the inside of her while she instinctively tightens around it. She could come again just like this, fucked on his tongue with his breath on her wet skin, his teeth brushing over her bare ass.

 _Answer me_. He growls, pulling his tongue back so he can nip at her thigh.

Eala curls her fist around a handful of grass, whimpering as he nuzzles the inside of her thighs, guiding them further apart. She could say no right now, or ask that he only use his mouth, or offer to get him off some other way. His tongue is already so thick that his cock might be too much. It might _hurt_ , and if she returns to camp with a limp, someone might ask too many questions.

Perhaps he senses her hesitation, because the Dread Wolf is gentle with her. He swipes his tongue over her cunt, licking her clit until she’s trembling before teasing at her entrance. With what sounds like a groan, his tongue finds her other hole —- and when she gasps at the new intrusion, he laps at it more in earnest, working the tip of his tongue into her ass.

Groping for herself, Eala clumsily tries to find her clit with her fingers, distracted by the new feeling of her tighter hole being invaded. She’s had lovers touch her there before, she knows that she needs to relax if it’s going to feel good, but it’s never been more than a couple of fingers. His tongue is already bigger than anything that’s been inside of her asshole, but he’s so gentle that she finds herself rocking back against it, encouraging him to push it further in, as far as it will go.

 _Don’t come_ , he orders, pulling away from her hole to lean around and nip at her wrist. _You’ve already come once, Your Worship. If you would prostrate yourself to me, you mustn’t distract yourself with your own orgasm. I’ll take care of you._ _Now, answer me: do you want the Dread Wolf’s cock?_

“Yes!” she says, almost whining. Now there’s nothing in her, nothing touching her. Despite his weight over her, she feels abandoned.

 _Do as I tell you. Tell me if I hurt too much, but do not struggle._ The order is punctuated by his _teeth_ biting down carefully on her shoulder, enough to manipulate her but not enough to pierce her skin. He presses her further down onto the grass. There’ll be stains on her chest and shoulders, for sure, and she isn’t sure that she cares now, with her face in the dirt and her ass high and presented.

She can feel him moving in the pressure on her shoulder, sucking in a breath when she finally feels his _cock_ , hard and bigger than she expected as it pushes against her thigh. Fen’Harel growls lightly as his hips rock, rubbing his cock over her wet cunt. Eala shifts underneath him, squirming to press herself onto his length, but when the wolf holds her in place, she stays obediently.

Like his tongue, the roll of his hips is messy, imprecise. He ruts against her and makes a mess, dragging the wetness of her own pussy all over her thighs and her navel until the head of his cock finally angles just where he wants it, pressing against her entrance. Fen’Harel slows down then, gently easing himself into her, stretching her cunt with an ache until her body accepts the very head of his cock.

Eala pants openly, whining with the effort. She’s wetter and slicker than she’s ever been before, and despite the strain, her body _wants_ to open up for his massive cock. This is blasphemy, but there’s no backing away now. She’s already had him inside of her. It can’t get better.

Without any other elves knowing it, she’s put herself eternally apart from them for the pleasure of impaling herself on the Dread Wolf’s cock. But her own gods never accepted the body she offered them, never took her prayers and turned them into action, and her desires to be overwhelmed and consumed by something bigger and more powerful in search of safety have never been indulged. Fen’Harel hears her. Fen’Harel protects her. And the Dread Wolf, he’ll take the parts that she offers, even if it makes her cry.

This won’t be the last time they fuck, she knows.

Unable to really squirm against him, Eala groans, “Fuck me. Please fuck me. Take me as you like.”

Fen’Harel huffs gently against her shoulder before he obliges her, sinking his considerable girth further into her hole and holding her down when she cries out. Anyone wandering nearby could certainly hear her, her loud grunts and her wordless pleading fill the air of the clearing as the Dread Wolf thrusts into her wet, noisy pussy. Eala wants to lean back, help him take her, but she lacks the leverage while she’s being held down. Instead, she tries to _relax_ , giving herself over and letting Fen’Harel use her body.

His jaw never tightens to hurt her, but Eala can tell when he starts to relinquish some of his considerable self-control. To go an age or more without sexual satisfaction must be torture, even for an immortal creature like the Dread Wolf, and she can almost sense him giving in, drunk on the tightness around his cock and the scent of her skin. She’s surprised at how deep she can take him, how _full_ she feels, stretched out to her limit by the intrusion, and as he fucks her, he always stops before the thick knot at the base of his cock can push inside. He teases her with the idea that she might have to take more, burying deep and grinding the edges of his knot against the rim of her pussy like a threat. Then he pulls back, almost until he’s out of her before he starts to fuck her again.

When he slips out, it seems to be my accident. He growls against her shoulder, taking his teeth off of her to swallow, and then to affectionately lick the nape of her neck and between her shoulder blades. It’s a little moment of tenderness that she didn’t expect, a softness in the midst of being so thoroughly used, and Eala nearly weeps for the kindness of it.

 _Fen’Harel’enaste, vhenan_ , he says, his voice gentle in her mind. Then he fastens his teeth around the back of her neck, his grip firm and safe.

He angles his hips again, rutting against her until the head of his cock catches her hole — but he slips, it isn’t her pussy this time but her ass, pushing in the tip before he realizes what’s happened. Intoxicated by the scent of her arousal and the beat of her heart pressed to his mouth, Fen’Harel groans and pushes in, stretching her asshole around his cock and invading her.

Eala _whines_ , digging her hands into the dirt and struggling _not_ to struggle. He may pierce her throat if she moves suddenly, and she has no desire to die here. Her cries only get louder, mixing with pain. “Please! Please be gentle. It _hurts_ —-”

Fen’Harel pauses. _Shhh_. He rocks his hips back, pulling out an inch, and then two. _You can take me, Your Worship. Make what noise you must. You have offered the Dread Wolf your body, and he accepts._ He punctuates the order with a short thrust, forcing out a cry and a whimper from her mouth.

Eala could tell him of his mistake or tell him to _stop_ , to pull back and use her cunt instead, but the pain feels like worship to her, suffering as the vallaslin made her suffer. She’s obediently still, rocking only when he rocks, grunting and groaning and crying out as he sinks further and further into her asshole and forces her wide open. There are tears in her eyes as he uses her, pounding into her as if her body is _his_ , as if her pleasure is nothing and it’s her duty to give him something tight and warm, even if it’s her underprepared hole and she’s so full she feels she might burst.

When he slips back out, Eala nearly weeps at the sudden emptiness. He’s left her open even as his cock is pulls away. He could do whatever he liked to her then, and just as she finds herself wishing for something to sooth the pain, Fen’Harel lets go of her neck and moves back again. Eala shudders at the touch of his tongue; he must realize what he’s done now, because he licks her asshole, slipping his tongue inside and gently sliding it over the tender walls inside of her.

_You’re doing well. I have more for you, Your Worship. More than ever, you must not struggle. You must take what I give you and let it sit inside of you until I’m finished. Do you understand?_

“Yes,” she breathes. “Yes. Yes please.” It feels like a drunken haze, the arousal and the aching. She imagines spending the rest of her life this way, pried open and prepared for him whenever the mood strikes, and there’s a rush of warmth between her legs at the thought.

 _Very good._ Fen’Harel moves back up, nuzzling at her hair before he grips her neck again. This time he enters her dutifully presented cunt, sinking _deep_ into her pussy all at once until Eala can feel his knot.

He grinds hard against her hips, slowly prying her cunt open around the bulge little by little, growling when she whimpers. _This is what you wanted_ , he reminds her. _I’m going to come inside of you. This cunt is going to take every drop of my spend and keep me inside of it until my come is so deep it won’t drip out of you. You will wait until I’m finished to move. Not a moment before._

Fen’Harel shoves her down harder, rubbing her face into the grass as his knot sinks fully inside of her pussy, making her cry out. His thrusts are harsh and shallow, never enough to pull the aching bulge back out of her, and when he growls, _Touch yourself, Your Worship_ , Eala is quick to obey. She’s so unbearably sensitive now that just the slightest brush makes her tighten, and that’s what he _wants_ , forcing her to twitch and squeeze when he can’t thrust.

Coming feels almost involuntary, almost outside of herself. Eala weeps as her orgasm makes her stomach tremble and her cunt tighten, her hips wiggling as much as they can. It’s when she’s unbearably tight around Fen’Harel’s cock that he growls low in his throat and she can _feel_ him filling her up, the hot spurts of his come fighting for room inside of her hole. His knot swells even wider, so thick that Eala is sure that she might burst or tear.

But she doesn’t. She’s good, just as she’s told to be. She whines and she whimpers and she begs for relief as the Dread Wolf holds her steady.

Fen’Harel breathes heavily on the back of her neck, huffing and panting as he comes down from his orgasm. He’s still too thick to pull out of her. _Don’t move_ , he reminds her. _Stay, even if I let go of you. You’ll be hurt if you don’t_.

“Yes. Yes, I promise.” Eala wipes at her eyes, her body limp underneath him.

While he’s still trapped in her cunt, the Dread Wolf lets go of her neck. He nuzzles her instead, licking the spots where his teeth left shallow bruises to soothe her. He gives attention to her shoulders as well, and he nudges her hair until she’s resting with only one cheek on the ground. There are grass stains on her cheek and jaw, and with the tenderness of an actual lover, Fen’Harel nuzzles and gently licks at them until her skin is clear again. His breath smells of her own cunt.

When he finally softens enough to slip out of her, it’s with a slick, _wet_ sound. Eala feels him dripping out of her despite his best efforts, and when Fen’Harel pulls away, he helps push her onto her back. He nuzzles her breasts and her belly before lowering his head to her cunt, his breath warm on her white pubic hair. 

Her pussy is overflowing with his come, dripping down over her asshole and making a mess of her thighs. Fen’Harel nuzzles her clit with his nose before lowering his great head between her thighs. _Can you hold your knees…?_ It’s awkward to lick her while she’s stretched out like this, though he tries.

Eala nods, reaching numbly for her knees and holding her legs spread, angling her hips so the entrance of her cunt is better displayed. Fen’Harel’s tongue is soft and kind as it cleans her, licking her thighs and her used asshole before dipping into her pussy.

This time when she comes, it’s short and much gentler, twitching against his mouth, her moans soft. When it’s over, she’s limp against the grass. She couldn’t walk herself back to camp even if she tried.

The Dread Wolf doesn’t leave her there, as she suspected that he might. Instead, he curls around her, nudging and manipulating her until she’s comfortably tucked against him. Eala easily turns toward him, burying her face in his fur and curling up, his large head braced behind her back.

“I have to get back to my people,” she mumbles.

 _Shhh. I’ll take you back when you’ve had rest_ , he promises. _You’ve done well, vhenan. Now sleep._

—-

In the morning, she _aches_.

She can still feel the light bruises on her shoulders and neck, and everything hurts with a dull thud from the waist down. Worst of all, Eala wakes _alone_ , somehow back in her tent, somehow even dressed. For a while she just lays there in her bedroll, closing her eyes again. How long can she stay here before someone is concerned? How long before someone notices the soreness in her hips?

She decides not to worry over it. She can say she’s just exhausted from fighting the demon the other day, perhaps demand a day off. Putting it in the back of her mind, Eala turns over, finding that her left side is more comfortable than her right.

As she settles and tugs the blankets closer around her, her hand catches on something that feels like… string? It feels like a shoelace, she must have left her boots next to her bed, and she blindly shoves to get it away from her. But what her hand comes into contact with isn’t a shoe at all.

Eala opens her eyes to look, and there next to her bed is something very odd indeed. She picks it up, bringing it closer to her face to see clearly.

Solas’s jawbone necklace rests in her palm, as if she hadn’t seen it around his neck when he’d left their party. 

...Huh.


End file.
